Perhaps One Day
by alette
Summary: Why they ended up in Azkaban was a mystery, the reason they failed was a tragedy and the way they fell in love was a miracle. Together they must learn to forgive themselves and move on from the mistakes of the past. Perhaps one day, they will. DHr.


Author's Note: Thank you so much to my two wonderful, super betas - Lemonella and Mollie Malfoy. This would not be as wonderfully decent as it is if not for them

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters or settings affiliated with it. Harry Potter is the sole property of J.K. Rowling. The quote also belongs to William Golding and is from a Moving Target. No profit is meant to be made off of this fic.

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_It may be -- I hope it is -- redemption to guess and perhaps perceive that the universe, the hell which we see for all its beauty, vastness, majesty, is only part of a whole which is quite unimaginable. _

-William Golding, _A Moving Target _

He remembered that day often now - his knuckles stark white on the chair, clenched around its arms. He remembered the shaking and the tears rolling silently down his cheeks.

He remembered the hundreds of sinister faces looming over him – oppressive with deep-set eyes. He could almost hear their unified thoughts of hate, of disdain still echoing in his mind. He had tried to look at them – to call out anything, but words had somehow failed him.

And now he was in a cell, where the memories drove him half mad.

However, he had no regrets, except perhaps that he missed the outside world – it was quite boring here. No one had visited him or appealed for his release and he was not sure why – were they all gone now?

In some ways though, he liked his cell. It wasn't warm, but neither was he – it suited him fine. The essentials were all there – a bed, although it could hardly be called that, and a chair that wobbled a little when he sat on it. In his free time, he read or wrote in the small leather diary that he had. He was convinced in his paranoid state that the new, human guards read it, so he wrote nasty messages to them. They were not amused.

He entertained himself well considering that it was a prison. Sure, the book selection was shoddy at best, but being a Malfoy, he endured with what he thought was a dignified manner. It did not always go well.

In prison, there was no hair gel or food that tasted like what it was named, upsetting him to no end. Prisoners had no rights, especially "evil war prisoners" like him. They were quick to condone those who they did not care to know about.

Days crept by slowly for him, not truly moving or changing or becoming anything new or worthwhile. However, that was before some brilliant Ministry insider decided to initiate a very stupid measure requiring the prisoners to talk together. Personally, Draco thought it was one of the Ministry's stupider moves because if they talked, what better way was there to plan a breakout, but who was he to judge?

Draco snorted when he heard the news and outright refused to go. But, the guards had forced him into a cell of another war criminal – someone they assumed was much like himself. Needless, to say, Draco was not pleased or even remotely happy to oblige – he only went on the threat of his shower privileges being revoked.

He had stalked into the room, sneering as his old self would have all the while praying it would be someone he had never known – he did not want to be asked questions that he was not prepared to answer.

He could not make out the figure in the room at first glimpse, his or her back turned to him. However, no one could have been more startled than he when the figure turned around.

It was Hermione Granger – his old classmate and goody-two-shoes extraordinaire. She had not changed much since he had last seen her, her hair was still frizzy and the same dull-brown it had always been. She did look a bit tougher though, but war could do that to people.

Silently, he evaluated her, thoughts racing through his head. How could she be in here – she had been one of the Light, one of the trio even. He knew that she had disappeared several months ago, but to land here… it was most curious.

Her eyes hardened when she saw him and she turned away, settling herself as close to the grey stonewall as she could. She looked sullen and miserable, and Draco could not help feeling the tiniest bit sorry for her – at least both of his best friends were not dead.

"Don't bother hiding, Granger," said Draco, fighting to recover his old drawl, "I know it's you."

She turned around, sighing slightly. "I don't want to talk to you, Malfoy."

She turned around again to face the cold wall, running her finger up and down the cracks in the stones. Closing her eyes tightly, she put her head to the wall. It was silent for several minutes as Draco looked at her.

"What are you doing here, Granger? This is the last place I'd expect to see you."

"I can't say the same for you, Malfoy," she retorted, back still turned away from him.

"That's a good one Granger. Never expected an insult that low from you; it's more along the lines of what Weasley or Potter would say…"

"Leave them out of this!" She turned to stare at him, his words having inflamed her temper. He had forgotten about that.

Draco did not have the sense to back out of that one, even though Hermione's expression mirrored the one from so many years before when she had slapped him. Perhaps prison had made Draco loose his ability to reason.

"Well, Weasley and Potter are dead now anyhow, so I dare say that it does not matter they…"

"I thought I told you to leave them out of this," Hermione repeated, her expression unwavering. She was angrier than he had ever seen her – this was not the same Hermione he had remembered. He had known she had changed, but this was so far from what he would have expected. Then again, he would never have thought to see her on this side of Azkaban's cell bars.

By then, Draco had found enough sense to back down from his point. Regardless of what people said about him, he was not completely heartless. He was not about to put up with a livid Hermione without his wand. Thinking about it, a fight involving her even with his wand would probably not have ended well either.

"All right, I'll stop," he relented without apology. But, considering it was Draco, it was a start.

"That's good then," said Hermione, sighing. "Why they had to put me with you, I do not know. I need someone to talk to before my appeal or I'll go mad."

This intrigued Draco more than anything else did – she had said something about an appeal. He knew they had existed in the past, but not for wizarding rights crimes. Either they had changed the law, or she was in for something else.

They had changed the law much of late – the Ministry had thrown almost everyone potentially associated with Voldemort in jail after his fall. Draco could not blame them – he would have done exactly the same thing had he been in their place, prevention and safety before worrying over the guilt of the involved parties.

He did not say anything, although he was curious – it would have to wait till another time. Hermione had turned away from him again and was now scribbling in a small leather bound book which he presumed to be a diary. Maybe he could ask her about it next time, but still fuming, they spent the rest of the hour in complete silence.

Draco was relieved when the guard took him back to his cell – it was oddly comforting to be back in a place that was his own even if it happened to be a jail cell. That had been his first real human contact in month, but it had to have been Granger.

He supposed it could have been far worse – one of his old Death Eater friends or perhaps someone twice his age. But, upon reflection, they probably tried to match people up by age or what not, which Draco thought only added to the probability of a potential breakout. However, the former Death Eaters had little motivation or reason to attempt to escape – most were dead anyway and those that were not were either injured or severely depressed as their families and friends were likely dead.

Besides, Azkaban's conditions were a shadow of what they once were. Sure, the Ministry was extremely harsh and unsympathetic to war crimes, but the Dementors were gone. The prisoners could not be haunted by the wartime memories anymore than they already were and did not have to live in everyday fear of the Kiss.

Draco knew that the memories of the war engulfed his waking and sleeping hours – with so little to do, it was inevitable that they would. But, now he had a new person to think about – the mysterious Hermione Granger. It was really a mystery to him that she had landed herself in jail. Draco had always thought her as one to grow up and probably even teach at Hogwarts once it reopened next year. It was truly an oddity that could not be explained, no matter how much he pondered it.

He did not see Hermione again for a few days during which time he filled fourteen pages in his diary, read three books, and traced outlines of clouds onto the floor of his cell. He also had eaten quite a few terrible meals – the worst of which being some sort of pasta dish involving something that looked like half-digested fish.

When he did see her again, she was brought into his cell and when she saw him, made a noise of pure disgust. She turned and sat down on Draco's chair, almost toppling over when she discovered how wobbly it was. She straightened out awkwardly, patting her still disastrously frizzy hair into a semblance of order.

"Having fun?" asked Draco, looking up from the book he was reading sprawled out on his bed.

She shot him a look before speaking, "I did try to change partners, but I see these guards haven't listened to me."

"I would have thought you would have given up on them by now, Granger. I've been trying for months to get them to give me hair gel or some half-decent food, but my message has not seem to have gotten through."

She snorted, which was not an attractive look for her. "Typical of you, Malfoy, caring more about your hair than anyone or anything. You deserve this cell."

Draco looked at her, sarcasm and sharp remarks gone. "Granger, please don't speak of what you do not know."

"Please, Malfoy. I don't really feel like speaking to you at all."

"Then sod off, will you?"

"I would if I could," she said softly, almost sighing. Silence dominated the hour again, until Granger tentatively cut in a few minutes from its end. Her eyes had been searching the cell and had settled upon an object of interest.

"Malfoy?" she asked questioningly.

"Yes?" he replied, lowering his book.

"Is that book - is that book over there Law, A History of Crime and Punishment?" She pointed to a large, worn volume in a corner of Draco's cell.

"Why yes, it is, Granger." He raised his eyebrows at her, wondering what she could possibly want with it, but she ignored him, choosing to plod on with her train of thought.

"Do you think I might, borrow it for a few days, maybe?"

She really had asked him. Hermione had the nerve to insult him and barely a half-hour later ask him to lend her a book. Had it been any other occasion, Draco would have outright refused, but he had already memorised the book and for reasons unbeknownst to himself wanted to end the animosity between them. So, he agreed, albeit a bit stingily.

"Fine, take it," he said, barely looking up.

"Really?" she asked him, thrown by his answer.

"I said, didn't I? Take it before I change my mind."

"Yes, you did. It's just I didn't expect… Well, never mind, thank you Malfoy." She shot him something that looked vaguely like a weak smile.

A grunt was Draco's only response and they fell into silence again until Hermione was silently ushered away by the guards, carrying the red book beneath her arm.


End file.
